On The First Day Of Christmas
by Follow Me Home
Summary: Notes come and meetings go, and Neville doesn't quite understand why he keeps trying.


A/N: On the first day of Christmas, Cheeky Slytherin Lass gave to me ~ a story about my OTP!

* * *

It's cold out. Frost covers the windows and, outside, the ground is coated with a blanket of white. There are students out, a few brave souls willing to brave the sudden onslaught, but their footsteps are quickly hidden away by fresh snow.

Neville gives a heavy sigh, breath coming out in a puff of fog. He draws his cloak tighter around himself - and he should have splurged and bought himself that heavy coat on his last trip to Hogsmeade, should have broken the bank and given in.

Or, better yet, he should have just stayed indoors, tucked away in the common room. George said they would be having cocoa that evening, and it's probably all gone by now.

Should be.

He should be, gone and vanished and tucked away. Not out here, in the dead of winter, near the end of the day, acting a fool. Not when they were supposed to meet near an hour ago.

"This is bullocks," mutters Neville, heat flashing across his face and quickly being smothered by the biting wind.

He sets the book down on the ground, nestles it among the roots of the great oak tree, and then he leaves.

-x-x-x-

The weather has not lightened up, even two days later. If anything, it has grown worse and, yes, Neville most certainly regrets holding onto his money rather than purchasing that winter coat. His is worn, the edges tattered. Bought at a thrift mart, worn for years, and ready to meet the furnace at this point.

He shoves his finger through the hole inside of his pocket as he walks, counting each stair carefully. Someone bumps into him, Neville yelps and stumbles and nearly falls, barely catches himself on the banister - and the staircase swings to the right, hooking up to a seperate flight.

"Bugger!" cries Neville, tightening his grip on the railing. "I'm never going to get to Potions on time now!"

Someone, something, laughs at him. Neville has to scramble to get to class on time.

-x-x-x-

Neville doesn't find the note until far, far later in the day, when he reaches into the pocket with no hole - looking for something, or maybe just trying to find something to do with his hand.

Half-numb fingers brush against paper. Pausing in his treck to the library, Neville pulls out the folded slip of parchment. Looks at looped handwriting and feels his cheeks go warm again and, now, there is no wind to chill it away.

_Longbottom,_

_Sorry to have missed you at the tree, I was held late after Charms. The book was very helpful though, thank you. Perhaps we can meet later? I will be at the tower tonight._

_- Malfoy_

-x-x-x-

The Astronomy Tower is much colder. Here, the wind is harsh and sharp, like claws raking across Neville's revealed skin.

Should have grabbed the scarf, he thinks to himself, huddling as close to the stone wall as he can. It doesn't do much in way of cover. doesn't block the wind, but Neville feels a little less exposed to the world and that is always nice.

Not to worry about eyes watching him, waiting for him to mess up.

Not to worry about people judging him, because he is not Alice and certainly not Frank, and no one seems to understand that.

Not have to worry about what he will say to Draco, because the blond haired boy just never shows up and Neville doesn't understand why he keeps expecting him too.

-x-x-x-

The next note appears at his table in the morning, delivered by owl. It is on a large script of paper, rolled up as though it holds a lengthy message, tied to the rented barn owl with a piece of twine.

Could never use his own owl, Neville thinks bitterly, could never let people make that connection.

All the same, eager fingers unroll the paper and eager eyes rake in the words, rake in that elegant writing that is becoming so familiar.

_Neville,_

_I was held up in the common room and, as you no doubt know, couldn't make it. Perhaps lunch, by the lake?_

_- Draco_

-x-x-x-

It's the first time that Draco has signed anything with his first name, and that is what makes Neville go down that day. He even passes up an invitation to sit with Ron and Harry and Hermione, which is something that grows more rare with each passing year, just to make the trek down to the dark waters.

Ice has begun to form near the bank, giving the lake a rather frightening look. Like it is a void of darkness sprung up from the deepest parts of the world, the remains of a barriar forming a jagged ring around it. Snow is falling, lightly, and Neville sits down at the base of an old willow. Draws his legs close to himself and his cloak tight and watches the road that leads from the castle to his secluded part of the grounds.

It remains empty for the entirety of his lunch break. Eventually, with his nose tinted blue from the cold and an empty stomach, Neville has to begin the long treck back to the school.

Alone.

-x-x-x-

The next three days, a note arrives at breakfast. Each day brings a different owl, rented from the owlery on the upper floor.

Neville doesn't open any of them.

On the fourth day, he recieves no mail.

-x-x-x-

Hogwarts is, using a term far too simple to ever describe the ever-changing halls and twisting corridors, a very large school. It is a simple thing to miss someone, even for days at a time.

All the same, when Neville does not see Draco for nearly a week, he cannot help but feel as though it's on purpose.

-x-x-x-

Christmas Eve brings a fresh coat of snow on the ground. The winds are wild, tearing at any who dare brave the outdoors like the claws of a rabid animal. Most of the students stay inside and Neville is no exception, joining the small gathering of remaining children and teachers in the Great Hall for lunch.

"There you are, Neville," says Hermione, taking a seat beside her fellow Gryfindor.

Neville glances at her, offers a wane smile. "Ello, Hermione. Nasty weather we're having, isn't it?"

"Quite," agrees Hermione, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "But that really isn't what I came to speak to you about. I wanted to ask if you're okay? You just look so down lately."

Okay? Neville supposes that he's okay. A bit homesick, a bit heartsick, but nowhere near as bad off as some of the other students. Has his mouth open to say as much when a finger taps him on the shoulder from behind - and Neville isn't usually this popular, never has people come over to speak just to him, certainly not more than one person at once, and is only half turned around when he catches sight of blond hair and frost coated lashes and such desperate, lost looking blue eyes.

"Draco?" he questions, cheeks flaring red already.

"I wasn't avoiding you on purposes," breaths Draco, and then frozen lips meet Neville's and eyes dig deep into his back and someone gasps - and none of that matters anymore, because Neville doesn't feel quite so alone during moments like this.


End file.
